


Touch Me with Lightning

by your_bro_joe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dr. Jamison Junkenstein - Freeform, Halloween, Junkenstein's Monster - Freeform, M/M, Self-Lubrication, weird science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 03:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8271319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/your_bro_joe/pseuds/your_bro_joe
Summary: Cold.
That was the overwhelming thought in Doctor Jamison Junkenstein’s head when he finally stood face-to-face with his creation.





	

_With its first thought, the creature decided..._

_...It would be a slave to no one._

Cold.

That was the overwhelming thought in Doctor Jamison Junkenstein’s head when he finally stood face-to-face with his creation.

Where the should be warm breath, there was a cool breeze. Where there should be hot flesh, there was chilled skin. Where there should be bright eyes, there were dull orbs.

It sent a thrill through him that he couldn’t suppress.

A thick, green hand wrapped loosely around his throat--not harmful, not yet, but threatening. Jamison shuddered, vibrating his skin against his monster’s, feeling his iciness. He was terrified. He was electrified. Those eyes pinned him where he stood, like a beetle in his insect collection; like his monster before it had been gifted life.

Shaking hands touched that wide wrist with feather-lightness, not pushing it away, not holding it there. White teeth gleamed in the blue light of his lab, and Jamison smiled, slowly but surely, up at the monster before him. He wanted to speak, but words died in his throat when the monster’s other hand fell upon him.

It was curious, that hand: traveling from shoulder, to chest, to waist, to hip. It felt out his vials and tools, and the texture of his coat. It stroked along his quivering sides and down to his spindly thighs. It pushed the hem of the coat up, feeling for the waist of his tights, and Jamison couldn’t help but let his eyes slip shut behind his goggles--couldn’t help but moan indulgently. The monster tilted its head. Jamison shifted his hips.

Black nails grazed bare skin.

Jamison shivered at his monster’s cold touch, but it would not deter him. He couldn’t deny that he’d wanted this, spending long nights picking the perfect parts and sculpting the perfect body--someone who could tower over even his tall frame; encompass him completely in thick arms and broad torso. He’d dreamed of this-- _wanked to this_ \--more than once. He hadn’t anticipated the cold, but... he dared not say he found it unappealing, either.

His eyes snapped open when he felt his pants pulled down to his knees and a cool finger pressing between his cheeks. His grin grew wider, and he set himself upon the metal slab his monster had occupied for some time prior.

The thing about building his perfect man was that _he was building his perfect man_. A slight jostling of organs, a replacement here and there, and he’d managed to make a self-lubricating cock. _That_ sent a thrill through him, and he eagerly leaned back, pushed his pants down and off, and spread his legs for the monster.

His monster took one look at that, and knew what to do.

Prep was thrown by the wayside as his monster pressed his cold, slick cock up against his hole, and it was harder to relax than Jamison had thought, when he’d imagined this, without the languid warmth of a living partner. But he controlled his breathing, wrapped his arms around the monster’s neck, and beckoned him onward.

That first press was pure torture, pulling a scream out of him that shook bats free of the rafters.

It eased, once the monster was fully inside, stretched to the limit around that girthy, dead cock. His groans turned to shudders turned to giggles, jiggling them both, and a deep, strained moan rumbled from somewhere within his monster’s cavernous belly. His fingers tightened, and he urged him to move.

It was, hands down, the best sex of his life: hard, sustained, passionate, and free. His monster clung to him as he clung back, his metal hand nearly tearing the flesh of his neck. He let go when he felt give, only to be flipped onto his belly and fucked hard from behind. His cries came unabashed, praising his monster, damning him, begging him for more. A wide hand cradled his whole belly, feeling the push of that fat cock even through his lab coat. He could have fairly melted, were his lover not so cold.

“My Hog,” he uttered, holding that hand with his own, lacing fingers to the best of his ability. 

To his surprise, the monster answered him: “Jamison” was rattled loose through disused vocal cords, deep and creaky but wonderful to the doctor’s ears. He squeezed that hand and shook and came over the slab, messing his clothes.

His monster finished shortly after, inside him, leaving him panting in shambles, almost falling to his knees before he managed to turn around and brace his elbows on the table.

His grin was lop-sided and sweaty, and he yearned to kiss the beast before him, but his monster had other plans. It zipped up its trousers and turned away, pulling the massive hook from its belt.

Jamison knew what it would do next.

He shivered with delight.

As the monster walked away, though, Jamison reached out to touch a cool wrist.

“Come back,” he said simply.  


The monster did not affirm or deny this request; it merely walked out the door.


End file.
